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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/giacomovenetiantOObamb 



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GIACOMO : 
A VENETIAN TALE 



\Denetian ^ale 



By 

WILLIAM 
GUSHING 
BAMBURGH 







i %G 



New York City : 

privately printed for the author 

mdcccxcii 



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copyright 

Wm. Cushing Bamburgh 

1892 

All rights reserved 



GIOVANNI, 
ROSALBA, 
PAOLA, 
GIACOMO, 



A Venetian Duke 
His Wife 
Their Daughter 
A Venetian Youth 



SCENE THE FIRST. 
ON THE LIDO. 



scene the second, 
in Giovanni's palace. 



I 



SCENE THE FIRST 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



i 



GIOVANNI. 
Thou say'st 't was done in love? 

GIACOMO. 



Aye, so 't was done ; 
Nor is it meet that thus my lowly pride 
In sweet remembrance of the deed I did 
Should leave me still unconscious of my love. 
My hope is hope for thee, nor should my love 
E'er crave return of all I gave for thee : 
Thou art my dream : on thee no sun has set 
That I've not yearned should soon again arise, 
That on thy peaceful countenance mine eyes 
Might linger thro' an hour ere it then 
Should set. 

PAOLA. 

Who art thou that to me shouldst thus 
Rehearse thy love? What gratitude must I 
Owe unto one on whom no eye of mine 
Has beamed as thou dost boldly say it beamed? 
Father, know you he a stranger is, 
Who in some uncouth gondola hath passed 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



And peered into mine eyes when in a dream 
I gazed up into Heaven and wondered whence 
Our spirits go in death. 

GIOVANNI. 

Nay, fret not so, 
His story is but one of many ; yet, 
It is my will that thou shouldst grant him 

court— 
And with thy Mother — not so young as thou 
Art now at her same age, for care had fall'n 
More deeply, tho' the heart that now beats 

time 
With this in mine own breast, is still as true 
And full of youth as then when flighty youths 
And many sleek young beans were set to win 
The tender maid that I, a stranger, held 
Within my heart more precious than my name 
Which still a most unsullied passport is 
Where'er that name is known. 

GIACOMO. 

I know it not. 

GIOVANNI. 
Nor shalt until to-night. 'T is well some men 
Assail the birth of men more nobly born, 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



For they have nought but chance of lowly 

birth 
And all the weight that flighty fortune bears : 
Respect is none the less from god to god 
Than man to man, — of Heaven it is a part : 
For one that doth but raise an eye in scorn 
Of true respect, doth lose the fragrance sweet 
Of gentle manhood. Gdac'mo, come this night, 
And if thine oar but splash thy thigh, thy tale 
Will fill thy brain and burst ere it be fold. — 
Farewell. 

PAOLA. 
Farewell. 

GIACOMO. 

A mortal still am I ; 
To-night, in thy sweet presence T will feel 
A god. {Exeunt Paola and Giovanni. .] 

And ye, O Muses, from thy peak 
Of far-away Parnassus, o'er my tongue 
Hold sway, lest fate should cut the thread 

and lose 
Me this sweet prize. Farewell, Paola sweet, 
Thou hast upon my heart cast such a spell, 
I'm thine and only thine. Farewell ! Farewell ! 



SCENE THE SECOND 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 10 



II. 



ROSALBA. 

'T was but a month ago I saw this youth, 
Methinks, slow pass us resting on his oar. 
He scanned our faces as one doth look 
For some lost jewel in a dingy room. 

PAOLA. 

Aye, Mother ; and his look did tantalize 
For I did look away, and still his face 
Enlightened was with so much satisfaction 
I fain did look again and penetrate 
His sweet and open countenance whereon 
No foolish madness seemed e'er could brood. 

GIOVANNI. 

" Father, know you he a stranger is 
Who in some uncouth gondola hath passed 
And looked into mine eyes — " 

PAOLA. 

Nay, Father; cease, 
And mock me not ; 'twas so I spake when he 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 11 



Before me stood. — Tis woman's way to build 
A barricade of fibs for man to climb 
Into the recess of a woman's heart ; — 
'Tis well that here he comes ! 

Enter Oiacomo. 
GIACOMO. 

Sweet grace be thine ! 

ROSALBA. 

And thine, good youth ! How luminous those 

eyes! 
'Tis strange, Giovanni, that in that noble face 
I see resemblance unto yours when youth 
Began to crown the life that 's with mine blent. 

GIOVANNI. 

Tome? 

ROSALBA. 

To thee. 

GIOVANNI. 

What folly ! Youth begin 
And let no falt'ring thought trip up thy speech. 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 12 



GIACOMO. 
Torcello saw my birth — 

GIOVANNI. 

Torcello? 

GIACOMO. 

Aye! 

PAOLA. 

Why, Father ; you do wince as if that name 
Were part of thy great title. 

GIOVANNI. 

Silent be, 
And listen to this tale. I hold belief 
That ere this night awakes, the dead will rise 
In such a strange, unholy fashion, we 
Will love our guest. Proceed then, with thy 
tale. 

GIACOMO. 

I would not have thee think me but a count 
Of fair Torcello ! Soon my parents went 
To Giudecca, where was born a girl 
Upon whose joy I lived. In her sweet life 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



I sunk my life ; for her I lived, and since 
Her loss, I've wandered beggarlike abroad 
With all the taunts uncivil and untrue 
That now beset Capuchin friars that roam 
From that once pleasant island and become 
Low grasping beggars : they deserve the curse 
Of Pope or prelate : so at me were cast 
Coarse taunts. That sister's saintlike visage, 

blent 
With memory, guided all my prayers ; to her 
I made confession ; until now, my love 
Hath sculptured in my breast an holy shrine 
Wherein her eyes so saintlike and so rjure 
Do counsel me. My precept she became — 
To her I vowed my love should be so true 
That mingled with a lover's love with mine 
A brother's love should make it doubly shine. 

GIOVANNI. 

Thou dost begin so well I do bestow 
Much praise. 



PAOLA 

Hold, F 
A shame 



.TAU.L.A. 

Hold, Father ; you do interrupt ; — 
it is his speech should thus be maimed. 



GLACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 14 



GIACOMO. 



At San Lazarro was I schooled ; in art 

'T was Tintoretto I did emulate, 

For in the East, Palladio's church doth stand 

A sentinel o'er the Lido and the isles 

That seem to float upon the river tides 

Which heave and fall as doth a mother's breast. 

But as perfume doth leave the zephyr sweet 

So art did from my life evaporate : 

No teacher schooled me, but the spirit came 

And ebbed and all I learnt I either saw 

Or felt with all the cruelty of a life 

Well blest in laziness and in hunger's wit. 

In wild seclusion the Euganian Hills 

Have sheltered me, and gazing up to Heaven 

Have I oft wondered were my father there 

So gently tender and so fondly proud — 

Blest by the presence of that sister drowned 

When I myself was saved. 

GIOVANNI. 

How came it so ? 

GIACOMO. 

I know not. Many an hour have I spent 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 15 



Slow wandering 'mongst the tombs of San 

Michele 
There searching for the name of him I called 
My father, tho' his face would seem to me 
So like to all Venetians I would fain 
Have met him in the glare of noonday sun 
And turned me from him. 

GIOVANNI. 

His death was not 
Unlike thy sister's, then? 

GIACOMO. 

Methinks the same. 
'T was thus : Giudecca held in bondage knights 
And factious nobles whose allegiance blent 
With such stern hatred for Venetian powers, 
That Venice was to them a state forbidden. 
My father, one such night, though bolder far 
Than such as choked with hearts up in their 

throats, 
Did not consent to stay and languish there 
But in a boat disguis'd did strive to reach 
Fair Venice. As we sped with muffled oar, 
A sentinel stove in our bow ; we 'gan to sink, 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



Paola cried, and clung to me for help ; — 
I swam with boyish strength ; there on my back 
I bore the life that unto me was all in all ; 
Then suddenly her weight slipped off, and I 
In agony swam toward the shore, — was saved, 
But saved an orphan, mourning at the age 
When children know no woe. I roamed about 
An heir to that enforced seclusion whence 
My parents strove to 'scape, but instead 
Did win that freedom which cold death doth 
grant. 

(Giacomo turns and addresses Paola.) 

A year or more agone, I saw thy face 
And formed of it the image of my hope, 
A hope that from a nameless youth's warm 

heart 
Hath filled his brain with dreams of lighter life. 
Before King Carnival blew his jolly horn 
I followed thee to this fair palace gate. 
In this sped year I've paused many times : 
Methought I was some Servite friar lean 
Who from Calle Fallier descended oft 
To gather from the poor such small stipend 
Of bread or wood as he was wont to beg 
Against the winter's cold and gnawing want, 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 



Thy face has blest so many hours of dread 
And pain and misery that I do crave 
Thy pardon if thou dost not upon me look 
With favor. 

So yestere'en did come when I 
In seemly distance lounged behind thy boat 
Unwittingly waiting for the grave mishap 
That plunged thee into water ne'er so warm 
But that the summer's sun might make it 

warm; 
You call me brave, 't was but a natural course. 
I will not try your patience any more, 
But unto this good man I would remind 
That when true love outweighs the love of 

gold, 
And honest love will grant an honest name 
The weight of true nobility, I will crave 
The hand of her who is my saint. My tale 
Doth end. 

GIOVANNI. 

Thy tale is not half told. T is well 
I now must grant my praise ; and, too, I grant 
At once this saint who evermore shalt bless 
And sweeten life for thee. 



GIACOMO : A VENETIAN TALE 18 



GIACOMO. 

My bride ! 

GIOVANNI. 

Not so ! 
Thy sister that was drowned has come to life, 
And I your Father am, and this your Mother ; — 
Death took us not, it was for you we mourned. 

ROSALBA. 

My son? 

GIOVANNI. 

Thy son ! 

ROSALBA. 

It seemeth but a dream ! 

GIACOMO. 

No bride ? Alas ! I am so stupefied 

I know not whence this blow has fallen. Thou 

My sister? Thou, my Mother? Thou,— O 

Mother, 
Thus let me on thy tender bosom rest. 



G1AC0M0 : A VENETIAN TALE 



No bride ? Alas, it is a grief so grave ; 
And yet, all life begins anew, and thou 
Dear Sister, to me slialt be so dear that I 
Will call thee sweetheart mine. So kiss I thee. 
No bride? Alas, I understand it not. 

PAOLA. 
That bride must in thy Sister be forgot. 



February, 1892. 



Oiaconto: H 
IDenetian Znlc 



By 

WILLIAM 
CUSHING 
BAMBURGH 




New York City : 

peivately printed for the author 

mdcccxcii 



C 32 89 ■■«*■ 










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